


This Is Us

by cakeby_thepound



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 16:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeby_thepound/pseuds/cakeby_thepound
Summary: As All Out War ensues, and Rick and Michonne find themselves expecting a baby, this is an exploration of their past and present as they try to prepare for the future. (Richonne. Time frame: Season 6B and Season 8.)





	1. The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

 

Michonne's entire body relaxed in sated bliss as she felt Rick pull out of her, quickly followed by the warm but decidedly icky sensation of his seed spilling onto her skin. Breathless, she stared at their bedroom ceiling, willing her vagina to recover as he left her with a soft and hot kiss to her neck before rolling out of bed. Their version of a bed, anyway, which was just a lone mattress situated on the floor. "God," she whispered to herself, her sweaty chest still heaving. It had been weeks, but she still hadn't gotten used to the idea of sex with Rick.  _Good_  sex. Mind-blowing, toe-curling, sweat-your-hair-out, dents-in-the-new-mattress sex. The kind of sex that got her up at 5:00 in the morning when she didn't have to be up until 7:00. The kind of sex that made her forget the sick feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach for the past few days.

Within the minute, Rick returned to the scene with a warm towel and a smile, relishing in the gorgeousness of his girlfriend with the sun's morning rays shining across her face, giving her ebony skin stripes of gold. He took the open space beside her to assist in cleaning up, but the look on her face gave him pause. Instead of the usual smirk she liked to wear after sex, she looked pensive. Troubled, even. "What is it?" he asked.

She smiled warmly at him, appreciating the way he wrapped his hand around her waist, caressing her skin. He was so affectionate. "Be honest with me," she whispered, her expression turning serious. "How do you feel about our chances with Dwight?"

He let out a deep sigh, the subject being one that kept him awake that night. Along with all the other things that kept him awake. "I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. "I don't think it's a trick, but… you don't know until you know."

"Until it's too late," Michonne agreed, resting her hand over his. She distractedly rubbed her thumb along his hand, concentrating on the rough skin between his fingers as she pondered whether to tell Rick what else was on her mind. She didn't want to alarm him, but there wasn't exactly a way to ease him into the next thought. "I think I'm pregnant," she declared, her big brown eyes locking on his face, apprehensively awaiting his reaction.

Rick's gaze immediately lifted to meet hers, and his mouth opened, but his joy at the very prospect overtook his ability to form words.

"I  _think_ ," she emphasized, noticing his smile forming. "I don't know."

"Why… why do you think so?" he stammered in a hoarse whisper, having to force himself to maintain his composure.

"I've woken up nauseated for the past three days," she shrugged, that being the clearest, most obvious sign for her. "And when you were…" She tenderly palmed her breast, accompanying it with a raised eyebrow in reference to him sucking the hell out of her nipples just around half an hour prior. "It was… a little painful."

Rick grimaced at the thought, especially knowing how hungry he'd been. "I'm sorry."

Michonne only shook her head as she carefully sat herself up, attempting to not upset her stomach any further. Resting her head against the bottom of their headboard, she gazed at Rick thoughtfully. "I'm scared to find out for sure."

He nodded, understanding why she would've been. They hadn't been together very long; the very idea of having babies wasn't something they'd discussed seriously yet. And being on the brink of war with The Saviors, the timing couldn't have been worse. "Maybe it's not that," he offered. "I mean, we've been more careful lately."

She gave him a knowing look – one to acknowledge that their 'more careful' was only in comparison to not being careful at all at the start, so it wasn't saying much. "It could've been that first night…"

A small, smug smile started to tug at Rick's lips at the thought of getting her pregnant their first time together. But it was instantly knocked away by reality; by the prospect that they'd made a  _baby_  that night.  _Shit_. "So," he cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the bright room. "Where do we get a test?"

Michonne sighed softly, trying to think of someone in their community that'd have one readily available. As far as she knew, no one had needed one since Maggie, more than three months back. She could only hope that there were some tests left over. "I guess if we have any here, they'd be at the infirmary."

Before she could say another word, Rick was already standing from the bed, grabbing his jeans from atop one of their dressers. "I'll ask Tara." He noticed when she cocked her head in protest, presumably not wanting others to know what might've been going on, so he sat back down beside her as he slipped on his jeans. "I'll be discreet," he promised, tenderly cupping her cheek and allaying her unspoken fears. "Hell, we already know she can keep a secret."

"This is true," she chuckled tiredly. She nodded for him to go, and quickly, as she was eager to know the answer, one way or another. She watched him throw on a shirt and disappear out of the room before retreating from the sheets herself. With Judith being at Hilltop, it had been such a nice change of pace to just hang out in bed for an extra few minutes. Or more like an hour, she realized, catching a glance of the clock on their bookshelf. The Saviors would be at their doorstep in a few hours, and for all they knew, this was their last chance to enjoy some time together.

Michonne couldn't help but think of the last time they had that chance and she didn't take it, going off to help Maggie and Glenn, then running after Daryl. Being kidnapped by the very man she was forcing herself to trust now. It could've been her last day on earth. Thank god it wasn't, but it could've been. And she'd learned since then not to take these little moments for granted. Smile when you're happy with someone; hold hands when everyone is looking; have fun at a carnival when you should be searching for guns; have messy morning sex. Or van sex. Or anytime, anyplace sex, so long as you're together.  _No wonder we made a baby,_ she thought to herself.

As she continued into the bathroom for a quick shower, she began to seriously consider what it would be like to have said baby, and concluded that it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world. She even smiled as she imagined Judith having someone close to her age to play with. She'd have Maggie and Glenn's little one, which had been such a relief to find out. It always made her a little bit sad to think about Judith growing up alone. Carl was so much older, he'd probably be out of the house before any of them knew it. She loved the idea of Judith having a little brother or sister to walk through life with.

Michonne thought of all this as she stared down at her naked body, trying to detect changes that she knew wouldn't be there, one way or another. Maggie was close to four months and was barely showing, so she knew it was a useless endeavor for herself. That didn't stop her from studying her full breasts or feeling her flat stomach for differences. Clues. Thinking about what she'd look like in six months' time. It took that long for her to show with Andre, but her body had changed a lot since then, so maybe it would be sooner. She could only hope this war would be long over by then.

"I'm here," Rick announced, stepping into the bathroom to avoid yelling over the running water. "We found three of 'em, so I just took 'em all."

With a shaky sigh, Michonne stepped out of the shower, gratefully accepting her robe as Rick handed it to her. She smiled when she'd noticed the lineup of pregnancy tests on the sink, as if it were a display at the drugstore. "Are any of them expired?"

"Not yet," he answered, proud of himself for knowing to check. "Of course if we need 'em again in another six to ten months, we might have an issue."

She settled on the third test, a different brand from the first two – the one she remembered taking when she found out she was pregnant the first time. "First Response, it is," she chuckled awkwardly.

Rick nervously nodded, watching as she opened the package without bothering to read the instructions. "Do you know what to do?"

"I know peeing on a stick may sound complicated, but it's not my first time," she joked.

"Sorry." His exhale was tense and so was the grin that followed, but he wasn't going to be calm until they had an answer. And then, depending on that answer, he would likely never be calm again. "I wasn't there for this part with Judith," he revealed, reminded of how exactly he found out Lori was pregnant the second time. "It's been a while."

"I'm nervous too," Michonne admitted. She noticed his fidgeting hands and took one of them, quickly but sweetly kissing the knuckles of his index and middle fingers.

Rick closed his eyes, instantly pacified by her touch, and he nodded for her to go on. He rested against the bathroom counter while she moved to the commode to do her thing. And then a lot of sighing and nervous tapping ensued while they waited, all the sounds in the small bathroom seemingly amplified. Michonne sat on the ledge of the bathtub, amusedly eyeing Rick as he glanced at his watch approximately every eight seconds, as if he could will the three minutes to pass faster.

"No matter what," Rick started to say, although more for himself than for her, he realized, "we're okay."

"I know," Michonne nodded, glancing at the test in her hand for what had to be the tenth time since capping the stick. She immediately popped up from her seat when she noted the two pink lines that had materialized. A wide, bright smile claimed her face, while tears formed in her eyes as she laughed at the result.

Rick didn't have to see the test or ask any questions to know that they were having a baby. He only tried and failed to blink back his own tears as he pulled his girlfriend into his arms. He never imagined that a moment like this would exist for him this far into the apocalypse. He and Michonne had spoken of reorganizing the world, but they both seemed satisfied with the family they had. For now, at least. And the timing still wasn't ideal, but who's to say it would ever be? When they found out Lori was pregnant, it was under the worst circumstances, marred by the inconvenient truth that the baby was likely Shane's. And still, Judith became one of the best things that ever happened to him. Michonne was another. This baby, whoever he or she turned out to be, would be the another.

For minutes on end, they stood there holding each other, basking in the scary, beautiful news. And she squeezed him and he squeezed back as he buried his face in her neck, kissing her damp skin, their muffled laughter filling the room. The last bit of calm before the storm they were starting.

_For all we know_  
_We may never meet again_  
_Before you go, make this moment sweet again_  
_We won't say good night until the last minute  
_ _I'll hold out my hand and my heart will be in it_

* * *

Rick's entire body clenched when he heard the blood-curdling scream that echoed throughout Alexandria, originating in the area he knew Michonne was posted. His mind registered it as hers, because she was likely in the same position as him – at the mercy of some Savior. He felt like he'd died himself when he saw through the trees, someone's body plummet to an agonizing end after being thrown over a balcony. He went numb immediately; thinking –  _seeing_  – the love of his life and the eight-hour-old news of their baby had just died. He'd spent the entire day thinking about that news, energized by it. Maybe distracted by it. And just like that, it had been snatched away. His heart and his stomach sank, and he would've dropped to his knees if he weren't already on them. Just days ago, he was able to pragmatically tell Michonne that he could lose her, but he was quickly coming to realize that he never actually believed she would be the one to go. And it felt like she'd taken his soul with her.

He stared back at Negan as he taunted him, all of his bullying and pontificating sounding like white noise to him. His cognizance was blurred by anger and sadness, barely registering that he was on the precipice of losing his son, too. In dark moments, before Michonne, he occasionally fell into Lori's way of thinking – that maybe it would be better if Carl died. Wondering whether all the pain was worth the few fleeting moments of joy. He found himself inwardly asking those same questions now as he listened to Negan try to intimidate him. The words that came out of his mouth next were born of that same dark place, but he meant them. This man would pay for taking his family from him. Not only Michonne and Carl, but Abraham and Glenn, too.

_For all we know_  
_This may be only be a dream  
_ _We come and we go like the ripples of a stream_

Back at the high-rise, after quite literally fighting for her life, Michonne had just managed to crawl her way back inside for cover. With the double-cross and all the gunfire that followed, she desperately wanted to find Rick and Carl, but knew she wouldn't make it outside. After all the hits she took to her face, she could barely even see straight. But took them she did, and didn't push back nearly as hard as she could've, all in hopes of protecting her baby. She was willing to take an elbow to the face if it saved her a body blow. Likely a futile endeavor, in the end, given how badly she'd been beaten, but she had to try. She knew she had to try.

"Michonne."

She had no idea how long she had been there – it could've been two hours or two days, for all she knew. Her body and her heart ached in a way it hadn't in years now, and she wasn't entirely sure death wasn't slowly claiming her. But she heard Rick's voice scraping at her conscious, and she felt herself come back to life.

"Michonne," Rick called out to her again, frantically taking her hand, searching for some sign she was still with him. He could taste the relief on his tongue when she slowly turned her head in his direction. "You're alive," he whispered, his breaths heavy like his heartbeat. She was so battered he didn't know what to do, what to touch, scared to hurt anything else, so he only gently kissed her fingertips. But god, he was glad she was all right.

Michonne started to cry, comforted by Rick's touch; thankful that he and Carl were okay, too. Her lips quivered as she thought about the baby that she'd probably lose, but it wasn't the end. They still had each other, and so it was still a win. "W-w-we…" It was only then, as she tried and failed to speak out loud, that she recognized just how weak she was from the fight. "We're… we're-"

"I know," he nodded, caressing her bruised face. "I know." He gazed at her and all her strength having experienced so much loss; her beauty, not in spite of, but because of the scars she bore. "We are," he professed, knowing exactly how her sentence would end. Knowing, finally, after weeks of brokenness and crushing defeats and her being the one to bring him back to the fight; for  _showing_  him that they're the ones who live, it was a statement of fact. He nodded, understanding as well as she did that the chance of them still having their baby was tenuous, but it didn't change that fact for him. "We will."

* * *

Michonne had been watching Rick for what felt like hours, but was probably closer to half of one, as he sat just beside her. Slumped over, using the edge of her bed as a pillow, she rested her hand on his head, her fingers entwined in his curls, where she could feel his pulse. Sign of life. She smiled to herself as she listened to him breathe, watching his shoulders rise and fall every other second. He seemed to be at peace, finally, but she knew he wasn't sleeping. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Rick opened his eyes at the sound of his girlfriend's scratchy whisper, lifting his head from the edge of the bed. "Shh," he replied, discouraging her attempts to talk as he stroked her arm. "I'm all right."

"I wanna be able to talk to you," she returned with a weak smile, ignoring his instruction. "It's bad enough I feel like shit."

"You should," he smirked, rubbing his tired eyes. "You got your ass kicked."

"Yeah, well, you saw the other girl." She closed her eyes, the smile still on her face as she tried to swallow, with a painful result. Farron came alarmingly close to strangling her to death, and she could feel it. "Maybe you're right about not talking," she submitted, touching her sore throat.

"Uh huh," he quietly chuckled back at her with a knowing nod. He glanced across the room to where Rosita was fast asleep after her second round of painkillers. They'd been lucky enough to have a doctor ride in from The Kingdom to examine everyone, and she'd brought enough medication to make up for what they lacked. Michonne, of course, didn't want to take anything until they knew their baby's fate. But at least he knew no one else was suffering. "The doctor is optimistic," he revealed, his eyes scanning her face in the midnight darkness. Her bruises seemed much less scary without all the blood. "I have a good feeling about it," he nodded gently. "We'll know more as soon as they get the ultrasound machine here." Before she could speak out in protest, he made sure to add, "We're pretendin' it's for Maggie." Now, more than ever, he knew they had to be careful about revealing their possible pregnancy to anyone. They were officially at war, and it would be the first thing their enemies would use against them. He couldn't even trust their friends with good intentions not to accidentally show their hand. "Carl, Tara, and Dr. Leslie. That's it."

"That's it," she whispered back faintly, taking his hand into hers. The day was catching up to her, her swollen eyes closing tiredly as she listened to him talk. His voice was like a lullaby to her, warm and familiar. How sweet it was to wake up next to him every day, then fall asleep beside him every night. Something else she had learned not to take for granted. Another memory she'd keep locked away for the bad days. Today was another day that could've been her last. They all were, she was realizing. Because you don't know until you know. Until it's too late. So she would cherish every moment they had in the meantime. Maybe with a baby on the way. "And for now, we wait."

_So love me, love me tonight_  
_Tomorrow was made for some_  
_Tomorrow may never come  
_ _For all we know_

* * *

Lyrics: "For All We Know" - Donny Hathaway (Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway)


	2. Who Would've Thought I'd Get You?

**[ _A year ago_ ]**

"You think you know how to get back from here?"

Michonne briefly glanced at her companion, his question startling her from her musings — most of which were about how this group was going to defeat Woodbury. She'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone. "What?" she asked. Another glimpse into her rear view mirror revealed Carl asleep in the backseat.

"I asked if you knew how to get back to the prison from here," Rick repeated. His blue gaze narrowed on her as he recognized that she seemed a bit distracted. Which — not that he knew her well — seemed unlike her. "Or do you need me to direct you the rest of the way?"

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion, internally questioning whether he was planning to send her back to the prison without him. Did he suddenly trust her that much after just one afternoon with Carl? "Am I dropping you off somewhere?"

"No, I was… I was just gonna try to get a little sleep."

Michonne nodded slowly, trying not to show her disappointment. Even if they weren't actually talking, it was nice to have him awake with her. On the way to King County, she felt like a chauffeur, driving around two people who couldn't stand to be around her. This was different. "Oh. Yeah," she shrugged, feigning indifference, "I think I can find my way back."

Rick took a moment to study the side of her face — futilely, as he couldn't glean anything from her expression. "Is that all right with you?"

"It's fine with me," she replied calmly, trying to keep another one of their interactions from turning contentious. "We've got another two hours? You  _should_  sleep."

"I'd stay up with you," he added defensively. "It's just that I have watch tonight."

"You don't need an excuse to go to sleep," she quietly chuckled. "I'm fine."

"Well last time I wasn't payin' attention, you got us stuck in mud, so I dunno about 'fine.'"

"You still gave me the keys," she quipped, smirking to contain her smile. His lazy drawl amused her more than she liked to admit – especially today, as he'd mostly been using it for good. Even a bit of levity. In fact, he had only implied once that she would have to leave the group after all of this was over. "You should get your sleep," she insisted. "You lost a lot of blood today."

He instinctively touched the spot where he'd been stabbed, shaking his head as he recalled all the things Morgan said to him. "You didn't have to bring that up."

"I'm just saying, I think that's as good a reason as any to get some rest."

Rick also had to stop himself from smiling, feeling like she was joking with him, though he was hesitant to respond in kind – just in case he was wrong. "Well all right," he sighed gently. "It's mostly a straight shot, but if you're not sure about the turn, just wake me up."

"Oh, thanks. I was actually thinking about getting us lost, so I'm glad you suggested that."

He peered at her and her sarcastic tone before reclining his seat a few inches. "I was tryin' to be accommodating," he said plainly.

"We'll you'll have to excuse me if I don't know what that looks like after the last couple of days of you being the exact opposite," she retorted, the playfulness in her tone apparent now.

"Yeah, well you haven't been a walk in the park yourself, you know."

"I will fully admit that I was a bit hostile when I first got to the prison," she granted, nodding as she maneuvered the darkening, winding roads. "After everything that happened with The Governor, I had my guard up."

"Had?" Rick interrupted to ask.

" _Had_ ," she confirmed with a soft chuckle. "I know… you're not like him."

Rick appreciated hearing that, especially when she'd seen the way he acted with that group that'd shown up at the prison a few nights prior. The fact that she understood him 'seeing things'. He realized he'd been harsher with her than he needed to be. "Well I appreciate you comin' along today," he submitted quietly.

"Like you would've given me a choice," she simpered, glancing over at him, only to find his gaze already on her. "For what it's worth, I appreciate you not leaving me there with Merle."

"You're not the only one with firsthand knowledge of what an asshole he is."

"I've gathered that. Officer Friendly."

It was Rick's turn to let out a small laugh, the sound still managing to fill the quiet car. He was at a loss for some pithy rebuttal, and moreover, had little interest in talking about Merle Dixon, so he allowed the conversation to subside. He closed his eyes, waiting for slumber to find him; expecting visions of Lori to haunt him in the meantime; listening to the sounds of the tires rolling along the pavement, picturing Michonne driving in the middle of the road. Which drove him a little bit crazy, even though it shouldn't have. Everything about her, it seemed, drove him a little bit crazy. And yet, being around her was the only time he felt sane.

Their journey continued in mostly silence, dusk turning to night as Michonne navigated the unfamiliar roads. She did her best to focus on all the landmarks she'd remembered passing on the way; relieved as she spotted walker pileups and brush they'd cleared earlier that day. And as much as she did feel like a chauffeur at that moment, she also enjoyed that Rick and Carl trusted her enough to let their guard down and go to sleep. On the way there, Carl was watching her like a hawk. She scoffed in amusement, thinking about what a difference a few hours made.

"Not much longer now," Rick commented with a yawn.

Michonne looked back at him, surprised to hear his voice so suddenly after the prolonged silence. "What?"

"I was just sayin' we're almost home," he answered, readjusting his seat so that he was upright again.

"Oh. Did I wake you up?"

"You didn't," he promised. He ran a timid hand through his hair as he wondered whether he should finish his sentence. "...I didn't actually go to sleep."

"What?"

"I tried, but I was really just layin' here. Resting my eyes." He could hear all of her little mumbles and sighs. And with his eyes closed, her scent was more palpable, too. She smelled like apricots and peanut butter. Which was a welcome change from the odor of death that had overtaken everything else.

"Waiting to make sure I made the right turn, huh?" she knew.

He shrugged, with a bashful smile to match as he answered, "Maybe. Subconsciously."

Michonne let out a sigh, shaking her head at the fact that she'd just been thinking all those nice thoughts about him. "Have you always had trust issues, or is that a new, end-of-the-world thing?"

He smirked at the question. Hesitant as he was to delve into  _why_  he had trust issues, it was quite clear that she had them too, so her question wasn't coming from a place of judgment. "I'd say it's a new thing," he confessed, purposely keeping his voice low. "I was probably a little too trusting... before."

She nodded thoughtfully, wanting to give him a sympathetic glance, but she didn't want to take her eyes off the road for a number of reasons. "You looked happy," she commented, referring to the photo she'd seen of him with his perfect nuclear family. After what she'd seen of the town, she bet they had a literal white picket fence. "Before."

Rick glanced out of his window instead of responding – mainly because he didn't have a response to give. That felt like an entirely different life now. It was hard to believe he was even the same person as the one in that picture. "You're one to talk about trust issues, you know," he submitted instead. "You couldn't even mention that you knew Andrea?"

"I didn't have a chance to."

"So you didn't know who we were when you showed up to the prison?" he pressed, his tone disbelieving.

"I had no idea," she was quick to assure him. "I figured it out after I realized you knew Merle. And by then, you were so mad at me for leaving…"

He unintentionally grimaced as he recalled how she came back to him, all bloodied and bruised. "Another thing you didn't trust me with."

"No, I didn't," she was happy to admit. "That was a mission for  _me_."

"If you'd mentioned it, maybe we could've helped you."

She gave him a knowing glance — one that said 'yeah right' — but she didn't speak, continuing to drive instead.

Rick watched her for several beats, his curiosity piqued in her refusal to continue that conversation. Who was this woman that'd gone toe to toe with The Governor and managed to not only walk away, but take his eye in the process? Who toted walkers around like pets, according to Merle? She obviously had a keen sense if she saw Woodbury for what it was when Andrea couldn't. And he realized it in that moment — she fascinated him.

"It's my birthday," she divulged meekly, completing her declaration with a sidelong glance, an attempt to see his reaction.

His stare flickered, mostly wondering whether he'd heard her correctly. "What?"

"I dunno if it's today exactly. I lost track a while ago," she shrugged. "But give or take a couple of days?"

Rick immediately smiled at that bit of information, appreciating that she was making an attempt at trusting him with something. "Hmm," was all he said, though. As he thought about how Judith was only a few days old. Maybe their birthdays were the same. Maybe she was destined to come along with that baby formula like some kind of guardian angel. "What's the date?"

"August seventh," she answered, figuring he probably didn't actually care. "It's silly to think about at this point, but... it's been on my mind anyway."

"I think it's probably good to hold onto some of those things." He stole another glimpse of her as he inwardly decided that he would make that Judith's birth date, too. August 7th. "Is that why you got yourself that cat?"

Michonne grinned at the thought of her new art piece, but shook her head. "I just saw it," she chuckled. "And I wanted it."

"Now I feel bad for being so mean to you earlier," Carl chimed in from the back seat, causing both his father and Michonne to turn toward him, surprised.

"You were awake all that time?" Rick asked, his voice conveying a hint of irritation at the notion. Almost feeling like they'd been eavesdropped on, despite knowing he was back there.

"No," he answered through a well-timed yawn. "I just woke up a couple of minutes ago."

"So you missed us talking about you then," Michonne joked with her new friend, smiling at him in the rear view mirror. She was glad for the interruption in a way, unsure where her conversation with Rick would've headed otherwise.

"Very funny," Carl shook his head. "I'm pretty sure my dad isn't ready for that yet."

Rick turned all the way around in his seat to look at his precocious kid, wanting to ask what that was supposed to mean. But instead, he just laughed, because he was glad to see his son had lightened up. "He knows me well," he commented to Michonne with a grin meant to keep that lightness going.

"Well. Maybe we'll get there one day," she suggested, not thinking much of her statement as they continued down the road.

But Rick gazed at the side of her face, her expression still indistinguishable, especially now, in the dark, and he replied with a small, thoughtful smile. "I'd like that," he said.

Michonne could feel her face growing warm, thanks to that drawl of his that only emphasized all of his words. So an innocuous statement like that sounded downright flirtatious coming from him, and she didn't know what to say. So she didn't say anything. Simply concentrating on the pitch-black, winding roads ahead of her. The world was dark in a lot of ways now, but especially so after the sun went down, making the lack of street lights so much more conspicuous. So she would use that as an excuse not to continue talking. She'd already shared more with these two people than she'd ever planned to.

"Carl, you never did say what you ended up getting for your sister," Rick commented, noticing that Michonne had gone quiet.

"Oh," he frowned, not realizing that his dad was interested. He turned to the trunk of the vehicle to survey all the plastic bags full of items they'd collected. "I dunno, pacifiers and bottles and that kinda stuff," he described nonchalantly. "But mostly clothes and toys. Michonne said she's gonna grow out of her stuff like every three or four months, so we just took everything they had left."

"That was smart."

"And we got her books, but we probably need more," he appended. "Michonne said she'll learn to read faster if someone is reading to her regularly."

Rick couldn't help but chuckle at his son suddenly having so much faith in everything 'Michonne said.' Especially when just a few hours ago, he was utterly annoyed that he'd asked her to come. He also couldn't help noticing that she was right on both accounts. "You have experience with kids?" he questioned her. Given how she interacted with Carl — in one afternoon, managing to break down the wall he had up against her — he wouldn't have been surprised to hear that she was a teacher in her past life.

Michonne shrugged again, reluctant to expound on that part of her life. "My sister had kids," she mumbled, hoping he would leave it at that.

He was sorely tempted to ask more questions about her sister and the rest of her family. Where did she come from? What was she doing before she found Andrea? But these days, those questions always had heartbreaking answers, so he refrained. Besides, they were pulling up to the prison gates, so conversation would likely cease for a while now. They had a war to wage against this Governor, and he imagined their little field trip was likely the last bit of calm before an inevitable storm. "Well, we made it," he announced with a quiet sigh.

Michonne smirked as she noted Daryl being the one to open the main gates, peering into their car as he did. "You think Daryl will trust me now that I brought you back in one piece?"

"'Trust' is a strong word," Rick joked, sending a lax wave to his friend as they passed. "I've known him about a year now and I'm not entirely sure he trusts me yet."

"He does," she sent back knowingly. "They all do."

Rick sighed again, heavier this time. While that was probably true, he sometimes wished it weren't. He was so tired. And more than that, terrified of failing them. After what happened with Lori, he wasn't even sure why they did. "Well, soon we'll find out if they should've."

As she settled on a parking spot near the cellblock doors, she glanced at Rick briefly, knowing the toll this all must've taken on him. As if losing his wife and gaining a baby on the same day wasn't enough in the old world. She couldn't imagine having to deal with that and a psychopath like The Governor trying to kill his people at every turn. No wonder he was seeing things. She offered a small, comforting smile, hoping that it told him that  _she_  trusted him. Or she was trying to. Not that it would've mattered to him — they were essentially strangers. For all she knew, he still wanted her to leave after all this was said and done. And yet, she wanted him to know that she was with him anyway. "I should head in and ask Glenn and Maggie to help with this stuff since you're injured," she declared teasingly.

"That's very funny," he chuckled. "I think I can handle a few bags, thanks."

"Better safe than sorry," she shrugged as she opened her door. "We need you strong."

Rick immediately noticed her use of 'we' and it made him smile again. He'd smiled a lot that day, considering the dire circumstances. And he wanted to say something that recognized that. He wanted to thank her. Not just for coming along, but for making the day better. He wanted to relay what Carl said, and assure her that he wanted her to stay, because it wasn't just about common interests anymore. That's if it ever was.

But he didn't say any of that. Instead, they exited the car with little fanfare, Daryl joining them before they even got the trunk open; soon followed by Carol, and Beth, toting a freshly-awakened Judith to greet the threesome. Rick noticed that was when Michonne disappeared, figuring she wasn't quite so comfortable around the larger group. Maybe she wasn't interested in getting too close to all of them. She liked her distance. Even when she moved inside the cellblock, she slept away from everyone else. She didn't like to be touched. He was definitely taking notes. Collecting all the information he could, trying to paint an accurate picture of this woman that intrigued him so. He supposed things would go back to normal after that — their strained interactions, both of them too belligerent for their own good. But he sincerely hoped not. If nothing else, the day had proven they made a pretty good team.

* * *

**[ _Now_ ]**

"So I dunno, I figure once we get the Sanctuary surrounded with the walkers, we'll have some leverage."

"Assuming nothing goes wrong elsewhere," Michonne guessed, attempting a glance back at her boyfriend; a lazy smile on her face as his fingers gently worked through her hair. Sat between his legs on their mattress, the glow of candlelight creating a bit of romantic ambience, she had all but forgotten about the physical pain she was in. Had they not been discussing going to war, it'd feel like they were in some version of her old life – the one of her twenties, in her studio apartment in Harlem, her bed the only furniture she owned. She quietly wished they could live in this moment forever.

"I think we have to assume somethin' will go wrong elsewhere," he commented casually. In contrast, his gaze was fixed on her hair as he twirled each of her thick locs between his fingers the way she'd shown him. He was so flattered that she was trusting him with this, he was determined not to fuck it up. "We have some wiggle room."

"We'd have more if I could come with you," she lamented with a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he countered immediately. He hated that she even thought to feel bad about it. "Not when your entire face is black and blue."

"I know," she smirked sadly. Shit, she couldn't even lift her arms to do her hair. She didn't have any business being in anyone's war. "I just feel left out. And like I'm letting you down."

"You shouldn't feel either of those things," Rick whispered. "You're the one that got us here in the first place. You could sit out for the rest of this whole thing and you still will have done your part."

She affectionately rubbed at his leg, appreciating him for saying that, even if she had no intention of taking heed. "You know I'm not doing that, right?"

Rick let out a heavy exhale as he scooped another small dollop of oil onto his finger before massaging it into the next and final section of her scalp. "What if this doctor says you have to?"

"We don't even know if we still have a baby, Rick."

"But if we do…"

"If we do, then I'll obviously do whatever the doctor says," she replied simply. She was trying not to get her hopes up. Even if the doctor was optimistic, she couldn't afford to be. She wasn't going to believe they still had a baby until the ultrasound machine arrived and she had tangible proof. "But that's a big 'if.'"

"You've been telling me for the past week now, ' _We're the ones who live_ '," he said it as if she needed reminding. "You don't think that includes our baby?"

Michonne tried not to smile at the way he said those last two words.  _Our baby_. But she loved the way it sounded. In that accent; the hope imbued in that one simple statement. He made it sound real, and that was terrifying and glorious, all at once. "I think I'd like to change the subject," she eventually decided. She closed her eyes, resting her back against Rick's body as he continued to twist and tghten her hair.

"We can always try again if we need to," Rick offered, having noted the way her body tensed as they spoke. He could tell she didn't want to get attached to the idea, and after Andre, he completely understood that. But he also didn't want her to be afraid to want things. "We're just getting started here."

"I know. But it's your last night at home, and I don't wanna spend it talking about something we can't know the outcome of yet."

"All right," he relented. He took the opportunity to study the top of her head, gazing upon his work — a tiny canvas of freshly retwisted locs. "I think I got 'em all," he added, stealing a kiss to her neck, inhaling the lovely scents of her shampoo and shower gel.

"Oh." She was surprised at how quickly he'd finished, perhaps because she'd gotten so comfortable there. Carefully, she climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom to check his work. Removing the clips from her head, her hair falling around her face, she immediately smiled at the fresh 'do, but then grimaced as she took in her full reflection. She'd seen herself plenty of times over the past two days, but it was still so hard to look at her own bruises. All tiny reminders of how close she came to dying...

"Did I do it wrong?" Rick called after her when she didn't comment.

"No," Michonne returned in the softest of voices. Her eyes flitted back up to the top of her head. Reminding herself instead that she was very much alive. And happy. And the fact that she could be happy, despite the devastating blow of losing Glenn, and now Sasha, said a lot. It said everything. "It's perfect," she added, louder this time.

_Through drought and famine_  
_Natural disasters_  
_My baby has been around for me_  
_Kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling  
_ _None of that could ever make me leave_

She reentered their bedroom, her head cocked to the side as she gazed at her boyfriend, perched in their bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a look that managed to cross between concern and pride.

"What's wrong?" he asked, regarding her questioning stare.

She shook her head before turning for their dresser to grab a headscarf from her drawer full of them. "You know what I was thinking about earlier?"

"What's that?" he replied, already pulling himself out of bed to assist her. Knowing it would only be a matter of seconds before she realized, again, that it hurt to lift her arms.

"I was thinking, if we're having a baby, we don't have to worry about you pulling out for a while."

Rick smiled, because he relished the thought of not having to pull out during sex — what a relief that would be; but also, he knew that she was mostly making fun of him. "You're an asshole."

"It's true!" she grinned back. She turned, allowing him to cover her hair with the the satiny scarf, making a mental note of how he'd managed to tie it just right. Not too tight, not too loose. He knew her so well. "I mean, obviously pulling out wasn't your strong suit."

"Obviously," he conceded, given their current circumstances, "but you didn't have to say it like that."

"I was just saying. It's something to get excited about."

"We don't even know when we'll get to have sex again," he chuckled. He gently ran his hands down her bare arms as he finished his task, delighting in the feeling of her muscles and velvety skin beneath his fingertips. God, he was going to miss her for the next couple of days. He wasn't used to them being apart.

_Every time I look into your eyes I see it_  
_You're all I need  
_ _Every time I get a bit inside, I feel it_

Michonne turned back to him with raised eyebrows and a smirk, her gaze landing on his lips. "I hope you don't think you're going off to war without giving me a proper goodbye."

Rick quirked his own eyebrow in response, while his eyes surveyed the scope of his girlfriend's body — and more to the point, her bruises. "Michonne, you can barely move..."

"Well you can do most of the work." She slowly, carefully reached up to pull the straps of her tank top from her shoulders until she was lowering the shirt, her areolas peeking from the fabric, soon followed by her nipples.

He couldn't help but lick his lips as she revealed her tits, but he was doing his best to think with the right head here. Just because they wanted to didn't mean that they should. "You're in pain," he said as if she didn't know; his voice coming out in a murmur, low and unconvincing.

"Which is why I want some pleasure," she retorted, her eyes still on his mouth as she softly fondled her own left nipple, rigid between her fingers. "You're really gonna deny your injured girlfriend her parting wish?"

Rick let out a small scoff that combined with a chuckle as he tried to look away, anywhere but her pouting face and soon-to-be naked body. "Michonne..."

"Rick..."

"Would it even be good for you when you're hurt like this?"

"It's always good for me," she assured him in the sultriest of whispers, with a gaze to match it. It consumed him, in fact, begging him to believe her when she said that she wanted this. "I need you, and nothing else will do."

He knew that she knew exactly what she was doing by replying that way. Because it was all he needed to hear before taking her face into his hands — gently, of course — her chest pressing against his as he pulled her in for a kiss. Her lips and her body were equally warm, and he gladly melted into both, his tongue tenderly latching onto hers, tasting the mint of her toothpaste, reminded of their first time together.

_Who, who could've thought I'd get you?_

Between kisses, Rick managed to pull off Michonne's top in one swift motion, the sight of her plump breasts whetting his appetite. But he immediately recalled her describing how tender they were, so he refrained from touching; he simply looked. Watching with a fiery gleam in his eye as she retreated to the bed, her slim body splayed across the mattress.

Normally, he would've fallen on top of her with fervid kisses to every part of her body his tongue would reach, but he was reticent now. No matter her protestations, she was injured — the maroon splotches along her arms and ribs were proof — and he was going to be soft. Even as she spread her legs, welcoming him between them, and her panties just barely covered her pussy. He licked his lips at the sight of her dark brown lips peeking from the purple fabric, and a small wet spot that relayed her arousal. He smirked at the thought of what he was about to do to her.

_And when we're making love_  
_Your cries they can be heard from far and wide_  
_It's only the two of us  
_ _Everything I need between those thighs_

And Michonne watched him right back, relishing in the way he turned a bit red whenever he'd get to see her naked. The idea that she was like a rush of blood to the head for him was such a turn on. Coupled with the imprint of his dick pressed against his boxers, she was practically aching for him. Her heart began to beat faster when he joined her on the low mattress, his hands finding their way to her hips as he began to pull off her underwear. He was so good at this part. He was good at all of it, of course, but she especially enjoyed the way he looked at her as he uncovered her most intimate parts – like she was precious to him. It wasn't just lust in his eyes. He loved her.

_Every time I look into your eyes I see it  
_ _You're all I need_

Rick smiled as he threw her panties to the floor beside them, his mouth watering at her perfect pussy staring back at him. Her dark brown skin already glistening with her own juices in the candlelight, he dove right in with a gentle kiss to her plump lips, making her quiver with delight. It had only been a couple of days since they were last together, but he'd missed her all the same. Her taste, her scent. Using his flattened, wet tongue, he softly licked at her slit, then sucked at the pink bud protruding from it, eliciting a moan from her that not only filled the room, but him, with pride. He had an arm wrapped around each of her thighs to keep them from closing in on him as he devoured her — he'd learned his lesson about that by now. And devour her, he did. Running his tongue in tiny circles around her clit before kissing his way down to her dripping wet opening. "Fuck," he mumbled against her flesh, his throbbing cock driving him as crazy as he was driving her. Within minutes, he was so hard, he was slipping through the opening of his boxers.

_Every time I get a bit inside, I feel it_

"Baby," she quietly whimpered, her fingers digging into the sheets, her toes curling with pleasure. She was in a haze of ecstasy as he fucked her with his tongue. All the aches and bruises she's been trying to pretend didn't bother her, they really didn't in that moment. She didn't need painkillers when Rick was her very own drug. He made her feel like nothing else. His mouth did things she didn't think were humanly possible. Those two magical lips and that spectacular tongue made her feel high as a kite, exploring every crevice of her pussy like he'd never been there before. Even his nose got in on the action, as she could feel it grazing her clit, the deliciously ticklish sensation driving her insane. "Where did you come from?" she whispered in a daze.

Again, Rick smiled, pleased, but also awed, as he'd been thinking something quite similar. A year ago, they were just learning how to communicate without disagreement. So many walls up back then. He wasn't sure how it came to pass that they now had a family together. That they shared a home and a bed and he was literally face deep inside her, about to make her cum on his tongue. What a difference a year makes.

_Who, who would've thought I'd get you?_

And as his thoughts wandered, so did Michonne's hands, one of them tangling in his curls as they often did, and the feeling was euphoric. He could feel his dick moving as she gently massaged his other head. "Mmm," he moaned and mumbled, softly sucking on her clit like candy. Her hips bucked upward, and he took that opportunity to penetrate her with his index and then his middle fingers, the soaking wet sound only torturing him more. He could hardly wait to be inside her.

Michonne loved those quiet little moans of his. As he kissed and licked her up and down, the sounds of the pleasure he got from it only making it better for her. He sounded like he was enjoying his favorite meal and savoring every bite. "Shit," she groaned, the entire lower half of her body trembling. She could feel herself on the precipice of an orgasm. He must've felt it too, because he began to pull away, kissing the inside of her thighs and moving southward. He liked to do that — bring her right to the edge and then stop. She whined his name, her face contorted into a pout as she tried to guide his head back between her thighs. " _Rick_..."

He grinned devilishly as he gave her one last kiss and then came up for air. "Sorry," he submitted, his twinkling eyes locking with hers as he lowered his shorts.

"No you're not," she shot back dryly. But her eyes were then drawn to his thick cock as it sprang free and he began to stroke himself with his unbandaged hand. Suddenly, she wanted him inside her more than anything. Watching as pre-cum dribbled from his tip, while she could feel her own juices slowly streaming between her cheeks, her pussy throbbing with desire, she opened her legs as wide as she could. She nodded for him to continue, then closed her eyes as she waited to feel him.

_Don't you love when I come around?  
_ _Build you up, then I take you down_

Rick lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and got into position, pushing himself into her as slowly and as gently as he knew how, still terrified of compounding any of her injuries. But god, she felt good, her walls tightening around him the second he was deep enough. "Shit," he grunted. She was so wet, thanks to him and his tongue, his mind nearly went blank. And it only got worse as he began to thrust with long, deliberate strokes that left both their mouths hanging open. Her hips seemed intent on meeting his, only sending him deeper inside her, and he felt like he was going to die. "God," he moaned, his mouth then diving for her neck as a distraction. "Fuck."

"Rick," Michonne whimpered back. His hot kisses only intensified the feeling of him plunging into her. His stroke set her on fire, even this overtly tender version of it. He knew exactly which spots to hit, including her clit as he slipped his hand between them to tease it, massaging it as he fucked her. The wet sounds of their sex, the scent of it, the feel of her soft tits kissing his hard chest, it all had her insides screaming. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she breathed, though she felt as though she couldn't. He felt so goddamn good. Because he understood her – and therefore, her body – in ways that no other man had. Granted, she'd only ever been with two men before him, but she didn't know that sex like this was possible. Proof positive that they were made for one another.

_Who, who would've thought I'd get you?_

It took everything Rick had not to pick up his pace in all his excitement and fervor. She was so wet, he was practically swimming in her, ready to drown in it, and this slow and steady stroke was about to lose him the race. In fact, only a few more seconds passed before he felt that familiar wave of ecstasy shoot through his body, complete with a tiny explosion as he finished inside her. "Shit," he exhaled against her skin.

Michonne's eyes opened in surprise when she felt that warm gush, unused to him climaxing before her. But he hadn't stopped or even altered his pace, which made her smile, just before it made her cum. Unexpectedly and intensely, starting with a slow rumble that quickly turned into an eruption that tingled and tickled her entire body and claimed all of her faculties. Much in the same way that everything about Rick had taken her by surprise. "I love you," she hummed through the pleasure, not even entirely aware of what she was saying. "My god."

He grinned at her moans as he continued to lap at her hot skin, basking in being as close to her as two people could possibly be. In every sense. How he wished they could stay just like this forever. "I love you," he returned, releasing her neck solely to look into her eyes. To gaze at her beautiful, bruised face, as if he could memorize it for his next couple of days away. "I'm so glad you found me," he whispered.

_Who, who would've thought I'd get you?_

She giggled in response, pushing his long, dampened tendrils from his face so that she could stare back, unobstructed. She, too, needed something to keep for herself when he left. She'd already decided that her favorite shirt of his was staying with her, but she could use a mental picture of him, too. Just like this. She traced her finger along his bottom lip completing the image in her mind as she answered him, "I'm so glad you saw me."

_And I'll take some time_  
_Just to be thankful that I had days full of you_  
_Before it winds down into the memories  
_ _It's all just memories..._

* * *

Lyrics: "Get You" - Daniel Caesar feat. Kali Uchis (Freudian)


	3. Moving On and Getting Over

**[ _Then_ ]**

" _That's it, sweetheart. One knee in front of the other. There you go."_

Michonne stopped in her tracks when she overheard the murmur of activity coming from Rick's room — soft thumps and bumps as the sound of his soft twang tickled the air. Even if she hadn't heard his exact words, the tone of his voice told her he was talking to Judith. He reserved that gentle timbre for her, which Michonne always found endearing. This hardened soul had such a soft spot for his kids. He didn't speak to Carl in quite the same way, but the way he interacted with his son was very much he same. The tender touches and proud looks. She loved observing that about them.

She was reluctant to interrupt them, as Rick didn't get a lot of down time with his kids. Not since they left the prison. Always running after one emergency or another, trying to keep afloat. The last few days had been a welcome change, seeing him around the house. Rebuilding Alexandria by day; tending to the kids— and more specifically, Judith, with Carl still in recovery — by night. She always stole glimpses of them when she could, and that evening was no different. She slipped out of the bathroom, not quite finished with her nightly routine, and across the hall to Rick's room. The image of him on all fours with Judith alongside him, attempting to mimic him, was utterly adorable. It made her smile. And then, as the two of them began to scoot across the carpet, it made her giggle.

Rick glanced back at the sound of Michonne's infectious laugh, pleasantly surprised to see her standing in the doorway. "Hey," he greeted her.

"Hi." She chuckled again as she watched him readjust Judith's course, seemingly without even thinking, ensuring she didn't run into a wall. "I didn't mean to disturb you two. I just heard the fun and wanted to witness it for myself."

He sat back on the floor so that he had a good view of both his daughter and his friend as he answered, "You're not disturbing us." He waved her into the room, unwilling to take no for answer. "Come sit with us."

Michonne accepted the invitation — albeit a bit bashfully — as she tiptoed into the room, sidestepping the shuffling toddler and taking a seat on the empty bed. She was grateful to join them, the rest of the house being empty with Daryl and Carol out on a run, and Carl at the infirmary. In fact, the only reason she'd been preparing for bed is she didn't have anyone to talk to, so she was going to retire early. This was a welcome change of plans. Watching Judith learn this new skill. It reminded her of when her little one was just learning to crawl. Like Judith, Andre favored one leg over the other, so he tended to drag himself around the room until he became comfortable with the act. "I wish we had more carpet, so she could just roam freely," she commented. She hated that she was confined to only the upstairs bedrooms.

"She's all right," Rick beamed, gazing at her too. "Remember, a few months ago, she didn't have this. She would've been learnin' to crawl in a barn."

Michonne smirked, recalling how stubborn Rick had been about even coming to this place. "If it weren't for me..."

"Yeah, yeah, you saved us all," he returned, feigning a sarcastic tone. He knew very well that she had.

When his straight face converted into a smile and then a laugh, she found herself struck by what a good mood he seemed to be in. And after all the heavy shit that'd happened that week — from the herd nearly ruining Alexandria, to Jessie and her boys dying, to Carl being shot — it was a wonder he seemed so light.

"I'm joking," Rick clarified, noting her stare. "I know we're here because of you."

"I'm so glad you're willing to admit the truth," she shook her head, rolling her eyes in a playful gesture. "But no, I just - I was noticing… you seem happy."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing is  _wrong_  with it," she chuckled awkwardly, her stare studying him. "I just wanna make sure you're okay." And maybe it was more for her benefit than his. Because she wasn't sure how to process this version of him. After something traumatic, he tended to have... moods. PTSD. He'd been struggling their entire time at Alexandria, and now, suddenly, he seemed happy as a clam. It was odd.

He laughed, even though he genuinely appreciated her concern. "Do I not look okay?" As he waited for an answer, he smiled at Judith crawling between them, running his hand through her blonde curls as she passed.

"You look fine," she acknowledged. "But after everything that's happened, it would make sense if you weren't."

"I dunno," he sighed, scratching as his stubble with his palm. "Carl losing his eye is one of the worst things you can imagine happening to your child," he granted. "But I think I'm just so relieved he's alive."

Michonne nodded, agreeing, even though her grimaced expression seemed to say otherwise. She just hated thinking of all the things that kid had lost. "Yeah," she whispered.

"I hope it doesn't sound terrible to say this, but it kinda feels like what happened was good for us, in the end."

"Us?"

"Alexandria," he appended. "Without that herd threatening to ruin us, I dunno if I ever would've trusted these people. And I  _needed_  to trust these people."

"You did," she conceded with a nod. Her eyes avoiding his, they landed on Judith as a soft rattle came from her area of the carpet. The infant managed to find a distraction in her favorite toy — a pair of red plastic cups,. "And I'm glad that you've come around..."

Rick sat back, his eyebrow raised as he waited for her to go on. When she didn't, he decided to ask, "But..."

"I don't know if there's a 'but'," she shook her head. "I guess I'm just worried that you haven't seemed at all affected... by Jessie's death." She said it carefully, as if he might crumble at the mention of her name. "I mean, having to... do what you did..."

"I had to save my son," he answered quietly, his smile having fallen by then. "I hate what happened to her. She was nice," he admitted with his own nod. "But if I have to choose between Carl and anyone, it's gonna be Carl every time."

"Of course," she frowned. "I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I'm saying you don't seem to be mourning this woman you were..." Her words trailed off when she realized she didn't even know what he was doing with Jessie. All that trouble he went to to save her from her husband, and she still wasn't entirely sure why. "Were you dating?" she asked quietly.

He chuckled bashfully, scratching at the curls at his neck as he searched for the answer to that. "I dunno, Michonne."

"Why are you so uncomfortable?" she laughed back — equally as uneasy if she were being honest. This was a weird subject for them, and again, she didn't know why.

"I dunno. I guess I'm wondering - I mean, I hear what you're sayin', but. You'd think it's a good thing that I'm not moping around, all depressed and crazy."

"There's nothing wrong with being depressed and crazy," she offered with a little smile. "If that's how you feel."

"It's not how I feel, though."

"Okay." She relented with a simple nod as she crossed her legs on the bed. "I just... thought I'd ask. In case you needed someone to ask."

"I appreciate it." As silence began to dominate the conversation, Rick glanced out of his window at the setting sun, then checked his watch, confirming that it was close to Judith's bedtime. It was only highlighted by the fact that she couldn't seem to hold onto her little cups, whining each time she managed to drop them. She was getting cranky. "Come here, little lady," he cooed, crawling across the carpet to collect her.

"I should go," Michonne declared, half-smiling at the irresistible sight of the ten-month-old cradled in Rick's strong arms. "You need to get her to bed."

"I do," he agreed, but he wasn't ready for Michonne to leave yet. He enjoyed these moments with the three of them. And the four of them, with Carl. As nice as it was to have a full house when Daryl and Carol were around, when it was him and Michonne with the kids, it felt right. It was like the family dynamic he'd been aching for since the world ended. Hell, even before that, really. "The thing is," he began, just as she started to rise from his bed, "I don't know what it means that I don't necessarily feel sad. Does that make me an awful person?"

Michonne cocked her head to the side thoughtfully, confusedly; her eyebrows knitted, because she didn't know what it meant either. "You're not an awful person," she assured him.

"We knew each other two weeks," he shook his head, focused on his daughter. "I mean... I don't even know if you can be close to someone in that amount of time. Not  _really_."

"You can do a lot in two weeks," she offered diplomatically. "It's not the amount of time. It's what you do with it."

"Yeah," he nodded to himself. "But she was married and then, after Pete... I dunno," he sighed. "I just don't think we even got off the ground. Not emotionally... Certainly not physically."

She tried not to noticeably react, but certainly, a strange wave of relief seemed to wash over her as she realized what he was saying. And as uncomfortable as it made her to discuss, her curiosity seemed to be getting the best of her. "Did you come close?" she wondered, her voice quiet, as if she were hoping he wouldn't hear her.

Rick shook his head. "A kiss a few nights ago. In her garage, of all places."

"It's not like you can't have sex in a garage," she joked. Mostly to cover up the pangs of whatever else she was feeling. The things she didn't want to admit she was feeling.

"It wasn't like that," he chuckled quietly. "It was a sad kiss. Desperate."

"You were sad?"

"We both were." His voice was hollow when he finally looked up at Michonne, just as Judith's eyes fell closed. "Which is why it feels so good to feel good now."

"I don't mean to take that away from you," she said, gazing back at him sympathetically. "I just wanted to make sure it was real."

He nodded appreciatively, enjoying that she cared about him enough to check. He understood why it seemed strange for him to be okay now, after spending so long not being okay. After having to chop off the hand of the woman he'd been so absorbed with for the past few weeks. But he was, indeed, okay. Sitting there with his two favorite girls. "It is real," he whispered.

* * *

An hour later, Rick and Michonne had reconvened downstairs for what had become their usual nightly routine. Since moving in together, he'd learned that in the evenings, after dinner was served and kids were off to bed, Michonne liked to sit and read. Sometimes she'd take to the front porch, but usually, it was on their couch, with some version of a dessert Carol had concocted. Sometimes he'd find a book of his own to occupy his time, but most often, he'd find some reason to interrupt her. And that evening was no different.

"Hey, do you have any laundry that needs to be done?" Rick called out to her.

Michonne glanced in his direction as he passed with a laundry basket, only hoping that he had his favorite jeans in that load. But no such luck — he was still wearing them. "I have a few things in my hamper," she eventually replied to him. She briefly second-guessed allowing him to do her laundry when she realized that would include her underwear. She tended not to care when it was Carol, figuring she knew what she was doing. But perhaps Rick used to take care of such things for his wife. Still she decided to warn him, "Don't wash the bras, Rick."

"I know," he answered flatly as he slipped into her room to find her dirty clothes. He mindlessly sifted through her tiny tank tops and assortment of pants, throwing them in with his and the kids' stuff. He paused ever so slightly when he came to a pair of her panties, having to shake away the images he'd conjured up, her sauntering around her bedroom in them and nothing else. He exchanged those thoughts for memories, recalling the last time he did a woman's laundry with any regularity. Lori tended to do the housework, but every now and then, he'd take on the duty; and without fail, he'd do something to fuck it up. Luckily, life at the prison made him better at his chores.

He left her basket empty, save for her brassieres and the one pair of non-cotton panties in the bunch, then headed off to the laundry room to get started. "Have you heard from Carl since dinner?" he yelled to her.

Michonne's eyes instinctively went to the walkie talkie sitting in front of her, thinking it strange that she hadn't, now that he mentioned it. "No," she returned. She retrieved the radio from the table to investigate and make sure it was working properly.

"Well I guess he doesn't need us since he has Enid."

"Sounds familiar," she mumbled, setting the device on the couch next to her, just in case Carl did decide to check in. "Well I'll be listening for him," she assured him before going back to her book.

Rick finished loading the machine with all their dark clothes and began the cycle before strolling into the living room to join his friend. He couldn't think of anything he enjoyed more than this part of the day, getting to simply relax. "I am tired," he declared with a big sigh, plopping down beside her on the three-seated sofa. "Feels like the days just keep gettin' longer."

"They are," Michonne retorted, side-eying him as he sat forward and rifled through the books she had on the table. "Summer is coming, you know."

"I don't keep up with the days like you do," he commented breezily.

She rolled her eyes and kicked her bare foot against his leg to get his attention. "Pass me another cookie?"

He picked up the plate containing the last few oatmeal cookies, courtesy of Carol, and offered it to her before taking one for himself. "Still hungry, huh?"

She shrugged. "Delicious as your meatless chili was, it definitely wasn't enough."

"Yeah," he chuckled knowingly. He liked that she enjoyed food unapologetically. Junk food, especially. It didn't make sense, given her figure and lack of body fat — save for her ass, which must've been where it all went. "We gotta get more food in this place soon. Everyone is runnin' low."

"Yeah, hopefully Daryl and Carol manage to bring something back," Michonne agreed.

"They're lookin' for building supplies though," Rick said, sitting back again with his own cookie. "We should head out in the next few days to see what we can find."

"'We' as in you and me?"

He looked over to her, slightly baffled, wondering whether she was really questioning that. "Isn't it always you and me?"

Michonne gazed back at him, her eye catching his for what felt like too long. But she wanted him to discern what she was thinking, feeling, without her having to say it out loud. He was good at that when he wanted to be. But now wasn't one of those times, it seemed. "Is it?" she relented to ask.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he frowned. He didn't want to take offense before she could explain what she meant, but he had. "I can't even remember the last time we weren't together."

"It was a week ago," she recalled, her tone dry and almost cold as she resumed her reading. Or tried to, anyway. But Rick wasn't going to let her off so easily.

"A week ago," he repeated, calling to mind that brief few hours where they separated after their plan to move the herd went to shit. "Are you mad at me or somethin'?"

Michonne let out a hard sigh and set her book down across her lap. He wanted to have the conversation — and so did she, really, as her passive-aggressiveness was letting on — so they were going to have it. "I'm not mad, Rick. I'm confused."

"All right, well what about?"

God, how she wished their faces weren't so close in that moment. "Why didn't you tell me. About Jessie," she asked.

He opened his mouth to speak before realizing he didn't have an answer. He didn't know why. Or at least, he never stopped to think about why.

"I mean, I suspected. After all the drama with Pete, I knew it was more than just... you being the friendly neighborhood cop. But you never said anything, so I thought maybe I was imagining it," she shook her head. "Overthinking it." She hated how it sounded, demanding answers from him about his personal life. But after everything they'd been through, maybe she deserved them. "I know it's not my business - not... really. But this thing happened, and it's made me question things I thought I knew."

"I'm sorry," he replied quietly. Nervously. "I wasn't tryin' to keep it from you. There wasn't much to say. And I really - I didn't think you would care." When she looked at him disbelievingly, he reevaluated his words. "What was I supposed to do? Come home and tell you I liked a married woman?"

She continued to look at him, waiting for a satisfactory explanation for his antics. Maybe she should've chalked it up to the fact that everything he'd done at Alexandria was a bit of a fluke. He hadn't been himself — not the version of himself that she knew, anyway — since they got there. And maybe it was as simple as that. "I don't know. Maybe so."

"I think... deep down, I knew it wasn't right," Rick finally confessed. His gaze flitted to the table to avoid hers. "Tryin' to save her like she was mine to be saved. Thinkin' she could save me... by bringing me back." He chuckled ruefully at how silly it all sounded now. "I kept sayin' how we get to come back, but I dunno if I ever really believed it. And being around her, it did bring me back to my old life. Haircuts and art projects. It felt normal."

Michonne felt her eyes sting with tears, wondering what that must've felt like. To have something that reminded you of home. That made you feel like you could just slip back into your old life, like a missing puzzle piece, found. "Must've been nice…"

"It was," he nodded, staring at Michonne's hands, clasped tightly over her book. "Until you realize there's a new normal. I'm not the person I used to be. I thought I wanted that old life and just couldn't have it. But I want... and maybe even  _need_  somethin' different now. "

"Hm," was all Michonne could say as she listened to him try to explain.

"I dunno, watching her die like that… I was reminded, again, why we're the ones who've lived through all this." His eyes darted up to find hers again, hoping she heard what he was saying. "We're survivors. You, me, Carl. Our family. Jessie… she wasn't. And I hate it for her. I hate that I couldn't protect her and her boys like I said I would. But she would've taken me down with her. So I just wanna move on."

She didn't know what to say, because she felt like he was being honest with her, and yet, she was unsatisfied with his answer. She wanted more. She wanted an apology. Not for not telling her about it all. That wasn't really what she was annoyed by. At least not wholly. She sighed, wishing she understood why this ridiculous thing bothered her so much. Why it took up so much space in her mind. Especially now that the woman was gone. She should've left well enough alone. If Rick said she was fine, she could leave it at that. And yet… "I guess it just - it was kind of... jarring for us to walk in this place, and immediately, you chose her." She let out a shaky sigh as she realized what she was admitting here. That she felt betrayed in some small way. "It made me feel...forgotten."

"Michonne—"

"I know you didn't mean to," she interrupted before he could say it. "You've explained your position, and that's fine. But that doesn't change how it made me feel. It doesn't change the fact that I've had to clean up your messes and help take care of your kids, while you ran around being reckless and careless." She felt butterflies as she spoke. But not the good kind. They were nervous ones, the ones that settled in the pit of your stomach and made you feel sick. "And I don't think you stopped to think what would happen if you really pursued a relationship with this woman. Us co-parenting, living together... what we're doing now. It would've just..." She looked at him again finally as her words hung in the air before asking, "Would you have let her take my place?"

"You know that's not possible," he immediately denied, frowning. "Even if she were here, even - even if she wanted to," he stammered, "you know I can't replace you."

She smirked at how dismissive he was of her concern. She was certain he believed that, of course, but his actions told her that he never even thought about it. Apart from him becoming close to someone else, sharing his sadness with a stranger, that might've been what hurt most. "That's the thing, Rick. I  _don't_  know," she retorted hoarsely, the emotions stuck in her throat. "Because you didn't tell me anything."

"Well I'm tellin' you now." He turned his entire body toward her, watching her as he spoke his words. "You're not replaceable. Certainly not by someone who couldn't take care of herself."

"That's cruel," she simpered. But she understood that his grand epiphany about Jessie probably had a lot to do with the fact that his involvement with her nearly got his son killed. Which had to be a terrible wake up call.

"Truth is cruel," he countered, scratching at his stubble. "But that is the truth."

"Fair enough."

"I didn't even take my ring off," he noted with a small smirk, showing her his hand. "So how serious could it have been?"

"Oh, so that's when I should worry?" she asked, hoping her sarcastic tone didn't sound like friendly banter in this case.

"That's when we'll both know I'm ready to try again."

Michonne glanced at the hand containing said ring — it was loose on him now, thanks to all the weight he'd lost, probably from stress and everything else. But she'd run out of words to say on the subject. She was glad she brought it up after nearly a month of silence, but she hadn't quite gotten what she wanted from the conversation, and instead, she was just tired of it. "Good to know," she finished. She carefully placed her book face down on the table, so as not to lose her spot, and looked over to her friend. "I'm gonna call it a night."

"Already?" he asked, disappointed. He hated ending their conversation on a serious note when things had been so light lately.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I'll see you in the morning. We're on cleanup at eight."

He nodded as he watched her rise from the couch and disappear into the darkness of the house in practically the same breath. As he heard her footsteps on the stairs, his gaze fell to the coffee table where she'd left her book, letting out a small sigh when he took note of the befitting title —  _The Idiot_.


End file.
